


Growing Together

by Laeviss



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, Genderfluid Character, Horns, M/M, Self-Discovery, Strip Hearthstone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 08:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14931038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: The more time Anduin and Wrathion spend together, the more they learn not just about one another, but also about themselves.





	1. Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to share a few cute prompts I filled on tumblr during Mists of Pandaria. Enjoy! ♥

They had kissed before, but never quite like this.

Unlike their usual exchanges– quick pecks on the cheek over the jihui board or shy kisses ‘goodnight’ interrupted by Anduin’s guards– this time they found themselves alone, propped up against the headboard of Anduin’s bed, with only the flickering lantern on the nightstand to light up their cheeks. And Anduin refused to let the opportunity slip away.

Snaking his hand over the scales on Wrathion’s collar, he hooked his fingers beneath the gold lining and used it to tug him forward. Wrathion obliged; their mouths connected in a flurry that was as gentle as it was desperate, as hungry as it was playful. 

The dragon’s lips were inviting, the kiss so unlike the awkward bumps they usually shared that Anduin couldn’t help but lean closer. Shifting onto his uninjured knee, he draped his other leg over Wrathion’s lap and pressed their chests together. The dragon’s ‘hm’ of approval gave Anduin the space he needed to dip his tongue between the razor-sharp tips of his teeth and into the wetness beyond.Their tongues pressed together, neither really knowing what to do but both undeniably eager to learn. 

The prince was keenly aware of how full Wrathion’s lower lip felt against his own and the tickle of his goatee as he tilted his head to the side. The heat of his breath, his palm hovering over his hip in a courteous show of restraint– every detail came into focus, flooding Anduin’s senses with a rush of adrenaline. 

He moved his fingers from the dragon’s collar to his neck, to his cheek, pressing the loose cloth of his turban to the side in a quest to deepen the contact between them. A loose curl peeked out from beneath the fabric and tickled the tips of Anduin’s fingers. Wrathion murmured some quip about his ‘frisky’ behavior but Anduin was too distracted by the sharp point of his ear to care. Tracing over his skin and upwards, his hand soon disappeared beneath one of the tightly-wrapped strips of silk. 

Their lips had since parted, and Wrathion had moved his mouth to press against the slope of his jaw. “Prince Anduin,” he chided, his goatee tickling his neck. “I did not spend twenty minutes wrapping my head just for you to make a mess of it.”

“Should I stop?” He whispered, tilting his head to meet the dragon’s gaze. 

Sweeping his lashes over the crimson glow of his eyes, Wrathion dipped lower. “I didn’t say stop, now did I? It just… may be _rather complicated_ , you see.”

Anduin would have rolled his eyes if he weren’t so caught up in the drawl of the voice pressed against his skin. “I’m sure I can manage.” The thick waves of Wrathion’s hair led him up and under another layer of turban, and besides, he always enjoyed a challenge. Reaching his other hand to undo the gilded band, Anduin took advantage of the loosening coils and continued his exploration.

His hand was completely covered in fabric when Wrathion resumed kissing his lips. Their mouths met, as eager as last time, but with more measure and enjoyment than their previous frenzy had allowed. Anduin’s fingers tangled in his hair as he felt his tongue trace the curve of his bottom lip, and no matter how close he pressed, it was never enough, not near enough. If he could just get his hand around to the back of his head, he thought. If he could just get a little bit higher–

But something hard and utterly surprising stopped his palm dead in its climb. There was something– a very solid, heavy something– protruding from the crown of Wrathion’s skull, curving down at an awkward angle before disappearing into one of the many loops of fabric. 

Allowing the human less than a moment to react, Wrathion snapped. “Well don’t look so surprised, dear prince. I am a dragon. Dragons have horns. It isn’t exactly a shock.”

Oh, _horns_. Of course. He had always assumed Wrathion wore the turban so high to look taller, but now it made sense. Giving the bony protrusion a stroke in hopes of chasing the defensiveness from his voice, Anduin chuckled. “Sorry. I…just wasn’t expecting them to be so, um…horny.”

Anduin’s cheeks darkened as soon as the words left his mouth, and the widening dragon’s eyes mere inches away only spurred on the flames. They both stared, the human laughing sheepishly while the dragon shook his head in indignation, not bothering to stop even when one of the layers of his turban drooped down onto his forehead.

“I didn’t expect you to be so horny, either, dear prince,” Wrathion finally managed to sputter. “But look where we’ve ended up.”

“That’s…” Anduin laughed again: a full, sincere laugh this time. His fingers explored the slope and texture of the dragon’s horn, holding nothing back after a brief moment of embarrassment. “Fair enough. I guess we all have our surprises.”

Wrathion let out a sigh that Anduin hoped stemmed from his ministrations at the base of the horn rather than the dragon’s exasperation. He assumed the former as he felt the tension drain away beneath his touch. Tracing the pad of his thumb over the line where bone met scalp, Anduin dipped forward and claimed his lips in another kiss.


	2. Discovery

“I told you already: you can’t play Bloodlust this turn. Earth Elemental had overload.” 

“I know what I’m doing,” the charming lilt in Wrathion’s voice faltered as he flung a Dragon Egg onto the board. His gaze traveled from his mana crystals to his hand, and finally to the place on Anduin’s chest where his tabard used to hang. “If the state of your clothing is any indication, dear prince, I’m not the one in need of assistance.”

And unfortunately, Wrathion was closer to the truth than Anduin cared to admit. 

When they had agreed on this new set of rules, he hadn’t considered how poorly suited his priest deck would be for the task. But when every hit to his health obliged the removal of an article of clothing, cards meant to draw out the game were anything but ideal. He should have insisted on some kind of provision for healing or… something that would let him put clothing back on. As it was, his Lightwell was healing his minions every turn and his Northshire Cleric was drawing him additional cards, but nothing, absolutely nothing, was making him less naked.

“So if my Earth Elemental attacks you directly for seven damage,” Wrathion was clearly trying to sound nonchalant, but there was a ripple of enthusiasm beneath his words that shone through in spite of this, “I think that warrants a fairly large piece of clothing. The pants, perhaps?”

 _The pants? Really?_ But the pile of clothing beside him was already abysmally large: shoes, gloves, tabard, sash, pauldrons. He really didn’t have much choice. He could remove his diadem– he had forgotten it was on his head until now– but given the size of the hit he doubted the crown would cut it. He shook his head and, rising up, started to unbutton his fly. 

“You know, a shaman-dragon deck doesn’t make much sense,” he mumbled in an attempt to distract from thighs becoming barer by the second. He earned a chuckle in response.

“It seems to be working just fine.” 

Ever conscious of Wrathion’s eyes, he leaned back and stretched out his legs, rolling the fabric down over his injured knee with all the care his shaky fingers could manage. The realization that his guards could walk in at any moment brought a twinge of color to his cheeks, but he tried to ignore it. He had a game to win, even if he had to get naked to do it.

Draping the bottom of his tunic over parts he was particularly keen to keep hidden, he sat up and, cracking his knuckles, returned his attention to the board. Wrathion’s elemental had taunt, but the Shadow Word: Death in his hand could easily dispose of it. That would leave him with only three crystals, but at least he could heal. After that last attack, he needed it.

“Shadow Word: Death to destroy your Earth Elemental, and then my cleric will attack you for one.”

The dragon feigned a yawn, removing the glove from his left hand with a dramatic ‘whoosh.’ “One? I am starting to feel overdressed, Prince Anduin. It’s almost as if you don’t want to see me.”

“Oh, I’ll see you.” Anduin mustered a smile, rolling his remaining mana crystal around in his palm. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you out.” With that, he let it drop on to the board, extracting an Inner Fire from his other hand and placing it down on his Lightwell. 

“And the Lightwell attacks for five, just to be safe. I think that deserves _at least_ the turban, right?” 

“Ridiculous! Who’s ever heard of a lightwell attacking?” But, despite his protests, Wrathion reached up and unhooked the band holding his turban in place. As soon as it was off, the fabric started to unravel, and with it ringlets of hair sprang down onto his forehead and fell in waves along the side of his face. Anduin watched as he eased the longer strands out of the cloth and discarded it to the side with his shoes, sash, and glove. His horns– one pair that curled down beside his face and another that shot up at two different angles– poked through tousled tresses.

‘Adorable,’ Anduin found himself thinking, the flush on his cheeks darkening from pastel to rose. Wrathion must have noticed; he started to fuss with a tangle around the base of his crooked horn, suddenly growing interested in the cards spread out in his lap. “Yes, well, if you are finished attacking me with inanimate objects, I think I will play Twilight Drake for four and, hm, Flametongue Totem for two.”

“And?”

“And?” Wrathion looked up, pushing back his bangs in a futile attempt to hide the horns. 

As much as Anduin wanted to win, Wrathion looked _so flustered_ that the prince couldn’t find it in his heart to let the turn pass. “And you forgot to hit me with your Dragon Egg. It has two attack because it’s next to Flametongue Totem. See?”

“Oh, uh, of course. I was only trying to show you mercy, you see.” 

“I see,” Anduin shook his bangs free from the diadem, which soon joined his pants in the pile on the floor.

The next turn passed without incident. Anduin played Holy Nova, destroying both totem and dragon egg, and Wrathion removed his remaining glove without complaint. He then aimed another direct attack at his health with the Lightwell. Wrathion’s pauldrons slid from his shoulders to the floor. 

But if Anduin had known what to expect, he would have tried harder to get some taunt minions out onto the board. No matter how slight and Wrathion looked without his turban, his chest lifted with confidence as he reached for his next card, and Anduin, sensing the shift on his mood, braced himself for bad news. 

And needless to say, he was not disappointed.

“An awful, yet formidable dragon.” He pulled out a single card from his hand, waving it in the air and flicking it on to the board with a flourish of showmanship. “Let’s call it the only good thing she has ever done for me.”

Alexstrasza. Of course it was. Now not only was his health set at fifteen, but he also had to worry about the Twilight drake he had ignored, whose attack had been boosted to nine by the other cards in Wrathion’s hand. There was no coming back from this.

Fumbling his way through the buttons on his tunic, he finally got it off of his arms and down onto the floor behind him. A rush of cold air washed over him, sending a shiver crawling from the base of his spine to a spot just between his lightly muscled shoulders. Jerking forward, he hugged his arms to his chest. His underwear, the last remaining garment on his body, wasn’t leaving much to the imagination. 

But even still, he wasn’t left entirely unsatisfied. Grinning through his blush, he watched, victorious, as Wrathion’s jaw dropped. His crystals, once clutched between his fingers, scattered with a clang across the floor.


	3. Fit for a Prince

Anduin stared at the open package in his lap, the faintest glimmer of a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

“It’s…it’s beautiful, Wrathion,” he whispered, running his fingers along the hem, enjoying the feel of silk against his soft skin. The dragon watched him from his place on the bed; his teeth flashed beneath lips parted in a grin. 

“Well, do you want to try it on?”

“I–” Stammering, he glanced towards the door. His guards were stationed outside and would likely give him his privacy, but he couldn’t help but worry. What would they say to his father if they found him in a dress? Varian had been accepting of his sexuality (though displeased by his choice of boyfriend), but they still hadn’t talked about gender and that, Anduin feared, might push the king over the edge. He squirmed; blue-and-white fabric slipped through his sweaty palms.

“If you are uncomfortable, my dear prince, that is perfectly fine with me. I don’t want to pressure you. I only thought–”

“ I’m just…nervous, is all. You know how people can be.”

Wrathion paused, dropping his gaze to his lap, and finally, after a silent moment, offered Anduin the faintest hint of a nod.

Yes, Wrathion knew, all too well. He remembered the night they first had sex, his lips pursed together and his muscles taut as Anduin explored his body. He had feared rejection: although he had never spoken the words, Anduin had always known.

Suddenly, he felt bad for having brought it up at all; biting his lip, he rose and lifted the dress from its box.

The silk fabric drifted to the floor in a flourish. The candles flickered and the light playing on the surface of the dress seemed to glitter and dance. It was clearly something Wrathion had ordered custom-made: blue-trimmed and augmented by golden swirls similar to those on Wrathion’s own attire, the white dress was so uniquely his (and theirs, in a way) that he couldn’t help but feel at home with it. The dragon had probably done that on purpose, he realized: Wrathion truly did think of everything.

The tightness in his chest started to subside, and, without paying the door more than a second glance, Anduin unhooked his pauldrons and let them fall to the floor behind him.

His princely tabard, tunic, and trousers were soon replaced by this equally-regal dress. It fit him like a glove, conforming to his body near the waist and then draping out into a wide skirt from the hips. Situated on his breast, a single crimson stone radiated its warm glow over the skin of his neck. Gold filigree matching Wrathion’s encircled it; trust the dragon to put something he made into the gift, as well. Anduin wasn’t sure if he wanted to giggle or blush, and settled on some mixture of the two.

Caught up in his own joy, he didn’t notice Wrathion standing behind him until he felt his arm wrap around his waist.

“And one last thing,” he murmured, gently spinning Anduin around to face him. He held a tiara in his free hand, twisted and gold with sapphires and diamonds encircled therein. The metal felt cool on Anduin’s forehead as it sank down beneath his bangs. He smiled; Wrathion took a step back to admire him.

“Well, that certainly looks better than your usual circlet, don’t you think?”

Anduin mumbled incoherently.

They paused for a moment, each watching the other. Anduin’s cheeks flushed as he shifted on the balls of his feet, enjoying the soft ‘woosh’ of silk around his ankles. Wrathion placed his hands on his hips, thoroughly pleased with himself for guessing Anduin’s size so exactly and choosing the precise shade of blue to match the glimmer in his eyes. They shared a shy smile; Wrathion started to move.

It took only two steps for the human to realize what the dragon was doing; he humored him, stepping back when Wrathion stepped forward, twirling when he lifted his hand over his head. The dance was clumsy and stilted without music, but the intense creases of concentration between Wrathion’s brows made the stumbling worth it.

They passed in front of the window; Anduin caught a glimpse of snow, no doubt conjured by his aunt for the Winter Veil festivities, drifting down to the street below. Dalaran’s citizens and guests bustled from shop to shop. Their excitement was almost tangible in their air, and Anduin felt his own spirits soaring as Wrathion guided him over the floor.

“I have been practicing, you see,” the dragon announced. They separated for a step and then came back together; Wrathion’s fingers laced between his.

“Well, it’s definitely better than last time,” Anduin teased. A chuckle rose in his throat as Wrathion wrinkled his nose.

“Last time was merely an…oversight. Nothing more. How was I supposed to know there would be dancing at that silly pilgrim feast of yours?”

The peal of laughter that had been bubbling in Anduin’s throat escaped his lips. His own hand tightened around Wrathion’s. “I warned you before we went, though. I even offered to help!”

“Well how was I supposed to know dancing would be so confusing? You people–” Wrathion looked to the side, his gaze falling on the mirror near the bed as the corner of Anduin’s skirt drifted past. The human used this moment of distraction to take control, stepping his own foot forward and switching his other hand from Wrathion’s shoulder to his waist.

“You make it look easy,” Wrathion finally admitted. Anduin leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

With every step and turn Anduin found himself feeling more relaxed. The soft fabric around his legs, the way it clung to his waist and rippled over his lightly-muscled thighs: everything felt so right. He knew he couldn’t wear it to the ball, but at least he could share this with Wrathion, the one who had gone out of his way to show acceptance. A surge of warmth blossomed in his chest at the thought. They pressed together, and, with a sigh, Anduin whispered into Wrathion’s ear: “Thank you…”

Those simple words weren’t enough to convey everything he felt, but he hoped and prayed that Wrathion would understand. Somehow, he suspected he would.

And at the very least, he decided, he’d wear the tiara to the party tonight. He doubted Jaina and Kalec would mind.

And Wrathion was right: it _did_ suit him better than the old one, anyways.


	4. At Ease

While it was never particularly easy to figure out what Anduin Wrynn was thinking, on nights like this it was altogether impossible.

Gazing out over the darkened expanse of his room, his face had become a mask of complacency, a passive mirror for the lantern light playing on his cheeks. Wrathion couldn’t tell if he was relaxed or frustrated, content or solemn. The walls he put up were a mystery even the dragon’s quick wits couldn’t crack.

Curling up so his knees rested against the back of Anduin’s thighs, he used the subtle shift of his weight to get closer, placing his fingers on Anduin’s hip and waiting for permission to proceed. Anduin nodded, and, with that, he wrapped his arm around his waist and brought him to rest against his chest. The human’s bedclothes rumpled despite the gentleness of his clutch.

‘What are you thinking?’ Wrathion wanted to ask, but no, that would be overstepping his boundaries. He hated nothing more than invasions of privacy, and promised never to subject Anduin to anything of that sort. Instead he simply nuzzled his nose against the back of his neck, taking in the smell of his wispy hair and the definition of muscle extending beneath the collar of his tunic. He let out a sigh, gazing over his shoulder at the crimson glow of the lantern beyond.

He took his time; there was no need to rush. Although he generally found it difficult to stay still, there was something about Anduin’s repose, the warmth of his body and the graceful curve of his neck against Wrathion’s cheek, that soothed him into repletion. He pressed his lips against the base of his jawline and lingered without any intention of withdrawing. His hand, still wrapped around his lower abdomen, started to toy idly with the hem of his bedshirt.

“May I–?”

Anduin cut him off with a murmur of approval. Withdrawing his hand for a moment to remove his glove, he returned to slide up under the fabric and explore the skin beneath. His fingers moved from the side of his waist to the soft flesh of his belly; finding a trail of hair, he followed it upward until it dipped into his navel. He pressed closer. The silk shirt slid like water over the back of his hand. 

Wrathion himself wasn’t keen on having his chest touched, but Anduin seemed to enjoy it (if the string of sighs leaving his lips was any indication). With the human spooned back against him, it was easy to trace a line up from his navel to his sternum. The skin here was devoid of hair, the muscles more sharply defined than the lower part of his abdomen. He dragged his thumb over the gentle curve of his pec until he found the nipple, drawing a circle around it and listening as Anduin’s breath hitched in his throat. 

“Prince Anduin.” He purred, simply, for once content to continue without conversation. He rested his cheek into the curve of his neck and allowed it to cradle him. His finger made another circle. Sliding a bit higher, he felt Anduin’s muscle respond with a twitch. 

Leaning against him like this was the best decision he could have made. Every tiny squirm or fault in his breath was immediately audible– tangible against his body, as if he too were feeling the same pleasure. Sliding a single clawed toe down the back of his calf, he earned a moan that echoed deep in the throat beneath his ear. He turned and kissed his neck. Anduin worked his way further into his arms.

In light of such enthusiasm, Wrathion was shocked by the hand he felt sliding up to meet his own. Anduin’s fingers locked around his, and for a single, horrifying moment he was sure he had done something wrong. But before he could open his mouth to ask, Anduin turned back and pressed his mouth against the frown that had formed on Wrathion’s lips. 

And when the prince withdrew, his smile had resurfaced. His body relaxed, and a crimson glow that had nothing to do with the lantern returned to grace his cheeks.


End file.
